


Somewhere Else to Be

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Head Injury, Mild Blood, Whumptober 2018, canon-typical weirdness, post-Unknowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: She holds tight to the phrase, “get out” with every scrap of her being despite no longer having a concept of out.Or being.She exists. Probably. Her sense of self is only the barest scent caught under the cacophony of candy floss and wet mulch and gun oil and animal sweat and popcorn and blood and--“Keep. Moving.” She repeats to herself as if by rote. The solid part of her cuts through the chaos, only briefly.





	Somewhere Else to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Made for Whumptober prompt 20: Concussion

_Find somewhere else to be and go there._

She holds tight to the phrase, “get out” with every scrap of her being despite no longer having a concept of out.

Or being.

She exists. Probably. Her sense of self is only the barest scent caught under the cacophony of candy floss and wet mulch and gun oil and animal sweat and popcorn and blood and--

“Keep. Moving.” She repeats to herself as if by rote. The solid part of her cuts through the chaos, only briefly.

Helium fills the space that might have once been her lungs and bears her up. She floats, her string tangles in clawing branches growing from canvas covered tent poles before she can get far. The steam organ plays but sound has no meaning anymore. The pressure of it all crushes her to the ground but still she  _moves forward._

What does forward mean when space has inverted? Pulled in on itself through its own navel and spat out the other side in a wash of orange sherbet? Rotten citrus claws down her throat and she swallows. It’s the only way through. She forces down the progress that threatens to burst back out to startle the flock of extinct birds that form her flesh. All that is dead and gone lives again in her existence. She is… Who is she? Does who even apply anymore?

_MOVE!_

A scream of passenger pigeons exit her flock, warping into eggs as they fly. White ovum reflects the primordial light in a blinding, prismatic burst before smashing open and cooking on the floor. Perfect yolks suspend in fried, bubbling whites.

“This is your mind on the Unknowing,” her laughter rings like cast iron. “Any questions?”

The blast knocks Basira against a wall, cracking her head against brickwork that until moments ago was children’s laughter penning her in. Her vision explodes white with stars and sudden exposure to light now that her eyes are eyes again. It should hurt but the pain has yet to register even as reality coalesces. The high whine of tinnitus drowns out all other sound. She feels bits of plaster and masonry pepper her back and relishes how _solid_ everything has become.

Real.

Blinking dust from her eyes does nothing to clear her blurry vision. Pain spikes through her skull as she groans and tries to move. Basira chokes back bile as nausea twists her stomach. If the slight movement of her head is all it took to trigger the vice of nails closing around her head, she does _not_ want to find out what would happen if she starts violently throwing up.

_Probably pass out and drown in my own sick. Wouldn’t that be just the way? An embarrassing, anticlimactic death after all… whatever this was? Is? I dunno anymore._

The warm trickle of blood is in sharp contrast to the wind whipping her hair. A pang of loss twists in her chest. The scarf that covered her hair had been a gift from her father. She wants to search for it but finding the source of the bleeding is more important right now.

Focusing on any one thing for long proves difficult. Her thoughts slip from her grasp in a way that makes her wonder if the Unknowing had been stopped at all.

_Breathe, focus on that for now. In through the nose… God, I'm tired. I need-- What do I need?_

Sirens play distantly over the ringing in her ears. Is that where the blood is coming from? Her ears must be bleeding. Then why is there blood in her eye? She brings her hand up to wipe away the sticky wetness from her forehead, wincing at the contact.

A beam of light sweeping across the destruction catches her across the eyes. Basira winces away from the brightness causing a wave of nausea and pain to tilt the world around her. She closes her eyes to ride it out.

When she opens them again she’s on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. Blue lights flash, lighting up the dust cloud in an eerie haze as it pulls away from the destruction. The shadows seem deeper than they should be, she hopes she is imagining it. EMTs work above her, shining light in her eyes, dressing wounds, and asking questions she doesn’t know the answers to.

She wants to ask if they pulled anyone else from the rubble. She doesn’t though, the words catch in her throat. She has her suspicions and will find out soon enough if they are true. Some things you are better off not knowing right away. She hurts enough right now, she has somewhere else to be. 

 

 


End file.
